


Pheasant's Eye

by BananaStrings



Category: Death Comes to Pemberley (TV), Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anger, Blackmail, Coda, M/M, Reconciliation, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26039089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaStrings/pseuds/BananaStrings
Summary: Colonel Fitzwilliam's overhasty actions (his passionate search for George's blackmailer and his passionless proposal to Georgiana) may have been due to more than a desire to preserve the Darcys' reputations.
Relationships: Colonel Fitzwilliam/Mr. Bidwell (Death Comes to Pemberley)
Kudos: 1





	Pheasant's Eye

"Did you believe Colonel Fitzwilliam, when he told you that he was hunting the blackmailer to protect _me_?"

Of course, Darcy should have expected something like this. Wickham would not go quietly, even to his own escape to America. He was always plotting things which Darcy did not understand, and here again he had been pulled aside into a darkened corner even at this last parting between the two.

"Wickham," he began.

"You saved my life, and I will pay my recompense," Wickham interrupted. "Now listen to me, my sister never told me the trespasses of her blackmail marks, nor even their names. She liked to think she was protecting me. She only mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam to me for how doggedly he had taken to following her, searching for a way out of his predicament."

Darcy shook his head and tried to pull away. He could always tell when Wickham was lying, and though this was not one of those times, he did not want to know what business the Colonel had had with a blackmailer. Wickham's voice followed him even as he tried to make his escape from him.

"Ask yourself why he so desperately wanted to marry Georgiana and stay on the estate."

It was too much. Darcy did not want to ask himself, not when the answer could only be clear. Pemberley had nothing to offer the colonel that he was not already welcome to. It would not be a thing then. It would be a whom. It would be a lover among Darcy's staff.

Perhaps Wickham had simply wanted to make someone feel worse than he did as he lost everything. If that was the case, he was wildly succeeding. Darcy was furious that his friend would conceal his own sins behind those of Wickham's, that he would endanger Pemberley with no hint of remorse, and that he would try to hide this all from Darcy's sister in his pursuit of her, likely paying to keep it from her. He was insensate with rage.

When Colonel Fitzwilliam had accepted an invitation to dinner, he had not expected to find the full staff of Pemberley assembled in the parlour with his friend Darcy pacing in front of them. Nor had he expected to be immediately accused of actions he could neither deny nor excuse. He was stricken to the spot.

"Who is she?"

"The disgrace is mine. There is no need—"

"I will have a full confession. There can be no more secrets within these walls," Darcy said loudly. "You will point to the woman you have taken advantage of."

"I have some honor left," Colonel Fitzwilliam protested.

Darcy slapped him. He was enraged at the hypocrisy of the statement perhaps, Col. Fitzwilliam thought in the reverberation of shock. The colonel did not retaliate. He’d certainly earned as much.

"Stop!"

"No," Col. Fitzwilliam could not halt the word from being uttered beneath his breath, in horror at the confession which the outburst represented.

Darcy stared at him as if afraid to turn around, surely recognizing the voice. He turned his head but slowly.

"I began it," the man stated.

"It was my responsibility to resist," the colonel put in at once, being both true and hopefully enough to return Darcy’s attention to him.

Darcy was already in motion, fleeing the room altogether, walking swiftly down the hall. He would not be stopped in such a mood. The colonel hadn’t realized how hard he’d been struck, until in the silence he could almost hear the throb of blood in his face, taste it on his tongue. Darcy was furious with him, and he could think of nothing to undo the damage he had done to the man’s household.

A young maid’s voice spoke into the quiet:

"When it’s between two who won’t bring children, well it’s usually a service turned a blind eye to."

It was her awkward way of trying to comfort him, though he was glad they saw service in place of love. Service could be understood between men. Love, however, was far less likely to be accepted. Col. Fitzwilliam did not look toward the other man in case it would show in his face.

His sense of duty demanded he keep his chin up as he sought out Darcy, but he waited until after dusk fell, when both could conceal their faces in shadow and lower their voices in deference to the hour and not under the press of shame. He allowed Darcy to begin. He would have to follow his lead.

"I know that men in the service will do these things sometimes. That it is better sometimes than other choices."

The colonel was glad his face was in shadow, so that he did not have to try to look ashamed when he was not. He could not play the part of a man who had been forced to choose the lesser of two evils.

"Perhaps I must accept some responsibility," Darcy continued in a hush. "I frustrated your courtship with Georgiana."

Even in the dark the colonel must turn away now. To be thought of as not more than a rutting beast by someone he respected, it was a blow. He wanted to counter with the truth. He wanted to disclose that when the butler had said he had begun it, it was only that the man had looked. That was all, easily ignored with no further consequence.

The colonel had chosen not to ignore. He wanted to retort that had Darcy not frustrated his courtship and indeed allowed him to install himself as a brother within Pemberley, he would have made that choice over and over and over. Glancing up in his flash of anger, he saw Elizabeth studying him.

"Mr. Bidwell loves Pemberley," she stated.

"Of course, _I_ shall leave."

Immediately, before Elizabeth’s insight into human nature could bring to the fore that one thing which he wanted to keep to himself.

"Wait." Darcy caught his sleeve. "Wickham has stolen so much from us."

Colonel Fitzwilliam closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight of so much loss in one night.

"I had thought that Mr. Bidwell loved Pemberley above all things," Elizabeth continued.

"And he will not lose it," the colonel said forcefully and pulled himself from Darcy’s hold.

He would bear all losses himself, if he could keep but the one memory undamaged, that he had loved. He knew Elizabeth had seen the tears in his eyes as he passed her, and he would hold her forever in his regard for her silence.

In a few months, she would persuade Darcy to write him to invite him to lunch in town, to smooth over what would be deemed a silly misunderstanding. He would let Darcy feel merciful toward him and look him in the eye as the rutting beast who had mated in his woods. It would be enough to affirm that he hadn’t been able to fight against his own nature, even if that nature was never clear to his friend’s mind.

In a year he would be welcomed back to Pemberley and the warm shelter of Darcy’s ignorance.

It was a year’s wait, and then a half year of polite lunches and bearing up under Elizabeth’s stares. Finally the autumn mellowed the summer, and the hungry beasts in the woods poked their snouts out in the evening to hunt or be hunted. He and Darcy went too, each night for a week, until a small buck led them all the way to the far side of the estate, and Colonel Fitzwilliam could not stop his eyes from darting to the stream.

It led to the Bidwell cottage. Mrs. Bidwell had vacated with Louisa and Will under excuses of needing to be closer to the doctor for Will’s sake. Mr. Bidwell stayed now alone, fulfilling his duties to Pemberley. He was as always a faultless servant. Darcy caught the colonel looking, and so the colonel spurred his horse faster to pass more quickly.

He could tell he’d made Darcy nervous. He spoke a bit too fast and rode just as fast beside him, but they caught their quarry and smiled brightly at each other none the less. Darcy still wanted his friendship and it was a friendship Col. Fitzwilliam wanted just as much, enough to lower himself in Darcy’s eyes if that was what his friend needed. But, he didn’t seem to want to place him lower, as they butchered the deer together and dirtied their hands for the pleasure of it. Darcy spoke to him as though as equal, eyes dancing and mischievous.

"The blood always stays under the nails. Elizabeth will be cross with me," he said, smile crooked and boyish.

"You’re the one who insisted on taking up a knife today," the colonel scolded.

"You take her side," Darcy laughed.

And, the colonel laughed too. "It’s almost impossible not to."

Darcy’s smile softened became thoughtful.

"Yes," he said quietly and smoothed the cut of meat down onto the board, the flesh warm and cooling while the smoking house heated outside. "Well, I leave you to the staff then to finish," he said. "I believe I have a great deal of scrubbing to do before dinner."

It was a show of trust. He had not left the colonel alone on the estate since he’d returned. Colonel Fitzwilliam felt a deep hurt soothed in him as Darcy walked away.

The second time it happened, they were herding an unfamiliar hound off the property. On the way back, they passed the cottage on the road. Mr. Bidwell was out, drawing water from the stream, collar undone as though preparing to bathe. The colonel’s lips parted on a deep breath, reflexive. Mr. Bidwell stilled his actions as they passed, and though he bowed his head in respectful acknowledgment, his eyes followed Col. Fitzwilliam as long as they could.

Darcy didn’t speak his nerves this time, but the colonel saw the tendons rise in his hands where he gripped the reins. The colonel didn’t speak either, and the silence was drawn taught between them. If this had been any sort of topic which could bear speech, some polite apology from both of them would have diffused it. All Colonel Fitzwilliam could do was follow Darcy’s lead, allow him to test him in this way for that was what it seemed to be.

They arrived together, silence broken by Darcy with a word to his stable boy:

"We’ll handle the tack tonight."

They led their mounts to the stable alone and brushed them down side by side. The colonel watched Darcy watching him with a pained look as though he wished to say something but couldn’t find the words. Colonel Fitzwilliam wanted to help, wanted to give Darcy the words he sought, but this was not a thing that could be told. Elizabeth had seen. She knew. She’d had the chance to approve or disapprove and had chosen to approve. Darcy deserved that chance.

The colonel waited for a cold damp night, one in which a man felt himself the only one out in the weather. He and Darcy rode side by side, huddled in their coats and under their hats. It was past dusk when they spotted the gleam of a pheasant’s eye.

"I will circle around to drive him to you," the colonel offered and pulled away to slowly pick his way in the opposite direction.

Darcy would not wait long. Concern or curiosity would lead him the way Colonel Fitzwilliam had gone. He would recognize the direction, as the first stars bloomed low over the treetops. The little valley would expose the sky and light the ground dimly. The rush of water would hide the sound of hooves, so that Darcy could dismount unremarked at the mouth of the dip and walk forward toward the cottage.

Mr. Bidwell would not notice him. The colonel would make certain of that, would press him hard, as hard as his longing demanded. He would pin himself against him and open his shirt and taste his throat and groan freely. No words, nothing to be told, only low sounds from Mr. Bidwell’s exaltation.

_You came back. You came back._

_I came back. I came back._

Tears pricked the corners of the colonel’s eyes, and he turned his face to draw breath through tightened chest. He saw Darcy then, the dark silhouette of him, and Colonel Fitzwilliam found his breath, found the languid warmth of the body against his. He closed his eyes as Mr. Bidwell’s kind, strong hands eased them both through the recooling of the embers.

The cold air blessed him with alertness. He gave in to the impulse to turn back to Bidwell to take his face between both hands, cheeks hot in his chilled palms which only made the other man hum appreciatively. He leaned their foreheads together and their noses side by side and their lips near, to breathe with him. Colonel Fitzwilliam remembered most dearly the moments like this one, where no question of affection could be found, a way for it to feel real when it was so private and unspoken. It ever made him feel brave.

Darcy waited for him, back where they and the pheasant had seen each other, to ride beside him to Pemberley.


End file.
